Page 82 of Crashing the Altar
This was the first time in years that Tripp and I had been together on his birthday. Since he’d joined and then taken over running the rodeo team, he spent the summers away from the ranch. Sure, he came back every now and then, but he wasn’t in charge of arranging which events the Sullivan horses were signed up for competition, and a break in the action was often at random intervals.
My first stop was the cute little greeting card store on Main Street. Browsing the aisles, I found the most adorable card that read,Happy Birthday, Daddy!My eye caught on the helium tank near the checkout, and it was a no-brainer that we needed no less than a dozen balloons that would likely fall to the floor by morning. It was just as well; we couldn’t cart them to our next stop anyway.
The woman behind the counter caught a glimpse of the card in my hand when I handed over the pack of balloons I’d requested to be filled and smiled. “This your first?”
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I ducked my head. “Yes.”
“How’s your man handling it? Can go a few different ways for the first-timers. They’re either over the moon excited, nervous wrecks, or completely indifferent, where it doesn’t sink in what’s happening until that kid’s earthside.”
“He’s been amazing.” I sighed, dropping my hand to the bump hidden beneath my flowing dress. “Talks to my belly every night.”
“Sounds like you’ve got one of the good ones,” she remarked.
“The best one.”
Tripp’s truck might have an extended cabin, but it was still a struggle to wrestle the balloons into the backseat. Then, when I hopped behind the wheel, I realized I couldn’t see through the rear window.
Yikes. The last thing I needed was to get into a fender bender because of my obstructed vision while pulling into traffic. Because I knew exactly how that would go down. Tripp would say, “Fuck the truck,” while I panicked about how hard his dad would come down on him for the damage to company property.
Rolling down the window, I stuck my whole head out to check that the coast was clear before easing off the curb. Breathing a sigh of relief when I made it onto the road without incident, I drove to my next destination.
A bell chimed above my head when I pushed inside the bakery. The sugary-sweet scent in the air caused my mouth to water and my stomach to rumble.
With the exception of the incident at the Winfields’ ranch, I hadn’t been sick due to the pregnancy. In fact, my insatiable appetite for food matched that of my sex drive.
It was closing in on lunch time, but I wouldn’t make it that long. Not with the tempting aroma coming from the pastries being pulled fresh from the oven behind the glass case that separated the patrons from the kitchen.
I sure hope your daddy’s right about all these extra calories going to you, little one, instead of settling on my hips and thighs.
Guess it didn’t really matter where the extra weight ended up because the gnawing hunger couldn’t be ignored.
“Can I help you, miss?” A woman in an apron asked as I perused the offerings.
Pursing my lips, I deliberated between two items. With the choice impossible, I mentally said,Fuck it, and decided to get both.
“I’ll take a frosted cinnamon roll and an orange cranberry scone to start.”
My pre-lunch snack was pulled from the case and placed into a white bakery box. “Anything else?”
“Yes, I need a cake, but I need it to be small enough to survive the afternoon in a mini fridge.”
She gestured toward the far end of the display. “Have you seen our cupcakes? They’re massive. Might as well be small cakes.”
I shifted to take a closer look, a grin splitting my face when I saw the selection of fruity flavors perfect for a hot summer’s day. “They’re perfect! Can I get one of the strawberry shortcake and one of the lemon curd?”
“Two of my personal favorites,” she remarked while packaging them before ringing me up.
Stepping onto the sidewalk with the bakery boxes tucked under one arm, I fiddled around inside my purse, searching for the truck keys.
Huffing hard enough to lift the curtain of hair that had fallen into my eyes, I muttered under my breath, “I know they’re somewhere in here.”
“Penny Sullivan?” An unfamiliar male voice had my head snapping up.
My brows drew down in confusion as I surveyed the man standing before me. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that we’d crossed paths before with how many new people I’d been introduced to on the circuit. After a while, the faces began to blur.
“You are Penny Sullivan, correct?” the man pressed.
